Story Jam 1.3 The Trembling Wembly

The sun came up over the foggy lake and I knew we had a crazy day ahead. On the south shore, we could see a hulk-like cloud of backlit mayflies.

“We don’t have much time -- hurry up with that marmot, won’t you?” she muttered petulantly.

The other diners waited impatiently for the next course to come out of the kitchen, making do with their water strider appetizers. Finally the creviche - or was it ceviche? -- arrived, but no one could remember what that word meant and the meaning could not be determined by sight, so they ate in silence and wondered.

“When was the last time I tasted silence?” he wondered, remembering it tasting less like ceviche and more like, well, armadillo. And with that thought, he went to the drawing room, had a brandy and got his gun. He took aim with his trembling Wembly, but when he pulled the trigger, it only clicked.

“Oh well, tomorrow’s another day.”